


Lucky Guess

by wingeddserpent



Category: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: Families of Choice, Gen, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-05-01
Updated: 2011-06-07
Packaged: 2017-10-18 21:12:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingeddserpent/pseuds/wingeddserpent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hope meets someone he's (never) met before.</p><p>End-game spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the no_true_pair prompt: Somehow, Hope feels like Fang is someone he has met before...
> 
> This takes place about three hundred years after game.

At first, he thinks he’s seeing things. After all, it’s not like pretty girls sitting in a random corner of the library and staring at him is a common occurrence. It happens to other people, but not to him. Hope shifts, uncomfortable, and tries to go back to reading his book. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and he glances at her again. A slow lazy smile forms across her face and she winks at him.

He flushes—and hadn’t he been over this whole stuttering school boy thing when he left high school? What happened?

When he turns back to his book, that funny prickling feeling finally goes away. Hope exhales—relief? disappointment?—and then he feels a hand on his shoulder. He jerks and his book lands with a _thud_ on the floor. “I ah—Can I help you?” he asks, already certain he knows who it is.

Her fingers are calloused and warm on his shoulder, and he turns to see her grin. “What’s your name, darlin’?” she asks, her voice an exotic drawl he’s never heard before. “Don’t worry. No need to be jumpy. I don’t bite... Unless you ask me to.”

She winks again, and he averts his eyes. “Hope. Hope Phylo.”

“Really now? That’s interesting. You can call me Fang.”

Fang moves to sit across from him; he swallows. “So uh... Fang,” he clears his throat. “Are you studying here?”

“No,” she replies, and her fingers skim across the table.

Somehow, he knows that if she’s this jittery, there’s something she’s trying to figure out how to say. Somehow, he knows that she won’t tell him unless he asks. “Fang? Is something wrong?”

It makes her laugh—but he can tell it’s fake. It doesn’t have that ring he knows should be there, doesn’t make him smile like he knows it should. “No,” she grins at him, but there’s a look in her eye that he recognizes as loss. “I’m great.”

He has to repress the urge to lean across the table and hug her. It catches him off guard and he averts his gaze. This time her laugh is real. “Do I scare you?” she asks him.

“No. You’ve never scared me,” he says.

There’s a pause. “How...?” he trails off. “How do you know me?”

How do I know you? He wants to ask, but he doesn't want her to think he’s crazy. He doesn’t want to drive her away—because if she leaves, if he never sees her again—

Hope represses the urge to reach out and grab that blue cloth she’s wrapped in (her _sari_ ) and cling to her like he hasn’t clung to anyone since his mother left him that first day in kindergarten.

Her face changes, to a serious expression he knows doesn’t belong there. “I don’t. Call it a... lucky guess.”

And it’s a lie. He knows it, like he knows so much about this person he’s never met before. Hope examines her. There's a spear made of red metal on her back and she wearing clothes of a make he's never seen outside of an ancient civilizations class.

“Please,” he chokes, tries to regain composure. “The truth. Please, Fang.”

She flinches.

“What are you studying here?” she asks.

Hope meets her gaze and there’s something like fear in her eyes. “Guess, Fang.”

Her hands clench and unclench and she looks away and then back at him. A breath escapes her—and he’s won. He knows he’s won. “You’re...” she pauses, struggles with herself. “You’re studying to be a healer,” she says finally.

“Doctor, but close enough.”

When he smiles, her face softens. “Glad to hear it.”

Fang stands and he grabs the edge of her sari. “Are you,” he takes a breath, “Are you leaving?”

(Are you leaving me?)

And she falters, looks at him. “Of course not, darlin’. I’ll stick around. Don’t you worry, I’m not abandoning you.”

“Is that a promise?” he asks, cursing himself for sounding like a little kid.

“Yeah,” she says. “It is. Now, love, I need to run. There’s someone waiting for me, but I’ll be back. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

Somehow, he has the impression of red pigtails. Who knows why. All he knows is the idea of Fang never coming back is too horrible to comprehend and despite the fact he’s never met her before now, he _knows_ her. More than he’s ever known anyone in his entire life. Hope stands and enfolds her in a hug and in the back of his mind, he can't help but wonder why he's taller than she is, and it’s only then he realizes he’s shaking with tears, saying over and over and over, _don’t leave me again, Fang. Don’t leave me._

And her fingers comb through his hair and she murmurs into his ear until he calms.

 _I won't, I won't. I promise, Hope. I won't._

Hope pulls away and she winks. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she says. “In the meantime, why not go introduce yourself to that pink-haired girl over there? You might find she’s a pretty neat gal.”


	2. Chapter 2

Vanille looks up when the door opens. “Fang!” she says, hopping up from the chair. “Well—Fang? Are you all right?”

“Yeah—I...” Fang sits on the edge of the hard hotel bed and blinks rapidly.

With a frown, Vanille moves to her and takes Fang’s shaking hands in her own. “What did you find?”

For a long time, Fang doesn’t say anything; she just looks out the window at the darkening sky. Voice shaking, she whispers, “I found Hope,” she pauses, “And maybe Light. But for sure Hope.”

“What?” Vanille asks, wide-eyed, and she pulls her hands from Fang’s.

Fang stands and then starts pacing. “Look, Vanille. I know it’s crazy. It’s been—fuck, I don’t know how long it’s been. They’re dead. I know they’re dead. But it was Hope. His name is Hope Phylo and he looked, acted exactly like—”

“There’s no such thing as reincarnation, Fang,” Vanille says, her own voice shaking. “It’s crazy to get your hopes up. They’re gone, Fang. They died before we woke up. A long time before we woke up. It’s just a—”

“It can’t be a coincidence. He _knew_ me, Vanille. Maybe he didn’t know who I was, but he knew me! I could see it in his face. In those eyes I remember clear as day.”

Fang grasps Vanille by the shoulders; Vanille lowers her eyes and slumps. “Please, Fang. Please. We’ve lost our family twice, please don’t do this.”

And tears start streaming down her face and Fang pulls her into a hug. “I know, Vanille,” she murmurs. “I miss them too. But if it is Hope—and I know it is—don’t you think he’s worth it?”

It’s a low blow and both of them know it, but Vanille nods regardless, shaking. “Alright, Fang. Alright. We’ll go see him. Okay?”

“Don't worry, love, it'll be all right. Now, let’s get some shut eye.”


	3. Chapter 3

“You use the quotient rule, remember? Low d high minus high d low, over the square of what’s below,” she says quietly, and then looks up when another student approaches. “Yes?” she asks.

Next to her, Maqui frowns at his paper; she turns her attention back to the fair-haired boy, who’s watching her with red-rimmed eyes.

“My name’s Hope,” he says.

She leans back in her seat. “They call me Lightning. You need math help?”

Hope shakes his head. Beside her, Maqui releases a defeated sigh. “I gotta go,” he mutters, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for the help, Lightning.”

With a sharp nod, she starts gathering up all her things, and then turns back to look at Hope. He twists his hands together and watches her. “You wanna take a walk with me?” she asks.

“I... yes,” he says, and then brushes a long strand of hair from his face.

She doesn’t remember seeing him before, but that’s not surprising; he doesn't exactly look like a math major and he certainly doesn't look like he belongs in the military academy. Lightning leads him out of the library and automatically starts down the path to her training ground. “So?” she asks, not looking at him.

“Why do they call you Lightning?” he sounds a little surer of himself, until he backpedals. “If you don’t mind telling me, that is.”

Most of the time, people who ask her that just want to get into her skirt. But, for some reason, she doesn't think that’s the case with him. She knows that’s not the case with him.

Lightning turns to look at him and he stops, surprised, but he meets her gaze calmly; she’s met men twice his size that couldn’t do the same. “What do you want from me?” she asks, and puts a hand on her hip.

“I...” he reaches a hand up and tousles his hair. “Look, Lightning. I’m no good at this. I’m just a struggling med student with more brains than charisma... But, I just—”

She holds a hand up to stop him. Her mouth twitches upwards at the corners. “Come to training ground four in two hours and I’ll show you why they call me Lightning. Then we’ll talk.”


	4. Chapter 4

Vanille tugs lightly at her necklace, and then immerses herself into the crowd. The market bustles with late afternoon energy, people getting the last shopping of the day done before twilight falls. She reaches into her pouch and feels the jingling coins there. Easily, she moves from the crowd to a food stand—

and there he is.

He’s as big as in her memories, with that feathery blond hair she knows, and he’s even wearing some sort of long white coat. “I’d like the roast behemoth,” he says and the seller nods.

Snow—because who else can it be?—turns and grins at her. “Hey. Don’t think I’ve seen you around before. You new?”

“I guess you could say that,” she says, throat dry.

He frowns, resting his fist in his other palm thoughtfully. “You go to the university?” he asks, “Or are you just passing through?”

Vanille shakes her head. “No. I’m just traveling.”

“Hey, you gonna order or what?” the seller asks, voice harsh.

“Um,” she pauses. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

The vendor nods and begins putting their orders together; Snow folds his arms and watches her intently; Vanille takes a step back.

Fang was right—there is some sort of recognition there. “I’m Snow Aron. Who are you?”

She pauses, closes her eyes, and fights the desire to flee, because it hurts—it’s him, but it’s not him. That same look, that same smile, the same name, but he doesn’t know her, doesn’t know them. “Oerba Dia Vanille.”

“Oerba?”

It makes her giggle, because she remembers—

 _“So, Vanille, your name is Oerba Dia Vanille... Why don’t you go by Oerba?” he asked, scratching the back of his head._

 _“Silly,” she laughed. “Oerba is my Village and Dia is my Clan. You Cocoonians do it backwards.”_

 _He grinned. “So I’m Bodhum Villers Snow?”_

 _“Yep!”—_

She grins. “Call me Vanille.”

“Right.” Snow scratches the back of his head. “I knew that.”

Vanille giggles again and they’re handed their food; Snow pulls out two coins. “It’s on me,” and he flashes her that grin that she still dreams about sometimes.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, eyes downcast. “Well, I’ll see you later.”

Snow stops her with a hand on her shoulder, face suddenly serious. “Vanille, how long are you going to be in town?”

“I’m not sure. Awhile. You’ll see me again—I just—I need to—”

“Hey, Aron, you’re gonna be late for your sparring match. You know she’s gonna kick your ass if you’re late again,” calls a voice she remembers—and it’s too much.

Vanille disappears into the crowd and runs all the way back to the motel.


	5. Chapter 5

Snow grins, folding his arms. "So, Lightning, who's the guy?"

Her expression twists with wry humor, and his smile widens. Typical Lightning. "His name's Hope. He’s sitting in today," she pauses and examines Snow critically, with that intensity that makes his breath catch. "What's with you? Girl troubles again?"

Snow lets his eyes close briefly. Can't she just let it drop? But of course not, trying to get anything through Lightning's thick skull is like trying to beat personality into a rock. "Sort of. I met this girl in the marketplace... She was interesting. Ran off without a word... But... Light—Claire... she was—familiar. There was something about her, something I just… _knew_... You know?"

In the corner, Hope jerks sharply, and Lightning turns, hand instantly on the hilt of her gunblade, but then she relaxes and arches an eyebrow. "Hope?" she asks, voice even. "You know something?"

"Did she have black hair?" Hope asks quietly.

"Nope," Snow replies. "Red."

Hope shakes his head. "I have no idea."

With a sigh, Lightning turns back to Snow and places a hand on his shoulder, and he can feel her warmth through her gloves, through his coat and shirt. "Either she'll show up again or she won't," she says and then shakes her head, with another wry grin. "You've got the worst luck."

She has no fucking idea. "We here to talk or we gonna spar, Claire?" he asks, grinning; time to steer her from dangerous territory.

Lightning's face relaxes into that almost smile and she nods. "Right. How's hand-to-hand sound?"

He can't help the bark of laughter. "Ready to lose, Lightning?" She looks at him, the intensity of her gaze not wavering. "Alrighty," he says with a grin.

Typical Lightning.

Lightning shrugs out of her jacket, until she's left in only her white button-up, black slacks, and black boots that match his. He smiles. Shoe-shopping with Lighting has always been an adventure, a tradition since they were kids.

Quickly, she drops in a fighting stance, and the smile slides from his face like rain. She's small but fast—he can't let her get close. His advantages are size and vitality and he'll have to use those to win. Lightning says something he assumes is go—he can't hear over the thrum of blood in his veins—and she darts forward; ready, he leaps back, avoids her flying kick, and lashes out at her.

She twists, it's a glancing blow; her balance falters, she lands badly, then powers through and rolls to her feet.

Snow launches at her, with his fists, fast and harsh, and she dodges with a skill he can just barely remember to be proud of. Quick—gods, she's quick—she forces herself at him, kicking him hard. He staggers back, pain barely registering. It picks up then, kind of like a dance.

By now, they know each other's tactics, and in this slow, crystal clarity, he can react and she can react to his reactions, and the match doesn't end until they're panting and sweaty and he lands a solid hit on the top of her head.

Blinking, she takes a step back and Snow stops the follow-up move that would incapacitate her. Voice thick, she says, "Good match," and she wipes the blood from her mouth with her white sleeve.

Snow grins. "You go through shirts like candy, Claire," he says. "You need more?"

"You just want an excuse to dress me up," she says, laughing with a wince.

Without thinking, he pulls out three potions—one for her, two for him. Being practically immune to potions is such a pain (literally), but it's better than nothing. They drink the potions with twin grimaces.

She turns to Hope and nods. "You see why now?"

Nodding, he asks, "Could you teach me? Both of you? I'd like to learn—you never know, could be useful..."

Snow looks to Lightning and she looks thoughtful, He grins, says to Hope, "It'll be our pleasure."


	6. Chapter 6

He can tell she's looking for someone. Her eyes scan the crowd and she easily ignores the people who watch her with acute interest. It’s only then that it registers just how attractive she is. Dark hair, tanned skin, striking eyes, and a definite figure.

Her eyes lock with his and there’s a flash of surprise and then her mouth curves into a smile. It doesn’t take her long to navigate through the crowd, and then she stands before him, hand on her hip. “Like what you see, ol—” her sentence stops, but her grin widens, predatory. “Or you just never seen a girl before?”

Sazh hold up his hands. “Hey now, I was just wondering who you were looking for.”

“You tryin’ to pick me up?” she leans forward; he cheats back.

“Whoa, whoa, personal space,” he says, shaking his head. “And I was just trying to figure out whether or not I could help you find ‘em.”

She steps back, puts both hands on her hips; Sazh frowns—and notices for the first time her outlandish clothes. Blue and black cloth wrapped around her in a way that shows more skin than he’s entirely accustomed to. He swallows, mouth dry. “Pity. I woulda taken you up on it,” she grins. “Actually, I was lookin’ for my partner. Little redhead, these great eyes, amazing smile. Wears pink? Clothes kinda like mine?”

For a second, he considers, dredging up his memories. “It’s your lucky day—I saw her talking to Snow. Ran off pretty fast... Don’t know where she went, though. Sorry.”

Her face changes subtly—but, somehow, he knows how to read her, knows that she’s worried. “Thanks, sa... Thanks a lot. What’s your name?””

“Sazh,” he grins, “Sazh Tyeis.”

“I’m Fang,” she says and he knows she’s about to go running off.

He reaches out and grasps her shoulder. “Alright, Fang. If you find me here tomorrow, how about we try this again?”

A grin spreads slowly across her face. “I’d like that.”


End file.
